The Pianist

I am sitting in the middle of a stage on a piano bench. The curtains are down and my anticipation is up. My fingers are neatly poised upon the piano keys and my eyes are glued to the bottom of the curtain. The lights are shut off and I am enveloped in this strange half-light/half-dark state. My heart is racing. I am ready. I discreetly nod but I know that my stage manager will see it and open the curtain. As I think this the curtains begin to rise and a bright light attacks my senses. I take in a deep breath and allow my eyes to adjust to the stage lights. It is time.

I smile at nothing in particular and then begin the composition. My fingers are fluttering across the keys as if they are the feathers of a bird, gentle yet strong in the presence of the wind. Willing to hold the bird in the air. Graceful and powerful all at the same time.

It is then that I start singing. There is a vibration deep in my chest and in the front pockets of my face. I am the instrument. I close my eyes as the feeling of playing the piano and singing at the same time cascade through my body. There is nothing in the entire world that can create this feeling of wholeness. I know I must stop soon and that saddens me more than it probably should, so I enjoy it for a few more moments.

And then I woke up.


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